


If We're Talking Body, You Got A Perfect One, So Put It On Me

by Thorn_Rose



Series: HashiMada Collections <3 [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: It's Hashi's birthdayyy, Light Bondage, Various Positions, also Happy New Year, and he wants Madara as his gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorn_Rose/pseuds/Thorn_Rose
Summary: Madara’s black eyes grew impossibly darker at his words. “How do you mean?” he asked, his breath just a little shaky.Hashirama leaned forward. ”I want to wreck you,” he said lowly. “I want to ruin you. I want to make you moan and whine, beg and cry and scream for me.”//It's Hashiama's birthday. Madara gives him everything he has
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: HashiMada Collections <3 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083389
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	If We're Talking Body, You Got A Perfect One, So Put It On Me

**Author's Note:**

> 'tis a request from my dearest friend. Love youuu <3  
> A little repetitive ngl

~*~*~

It was the celebration of his birth. The party the village had thrown was spectacular. But that wasn’t what Hashirama was looking forward to. He was eagerly awaiting what would come afterwards. 

His lover and husband had been teasing him all night, eyes dark with promise, voice low and sultry, clever hands touching him in the right places at the right times. It would have driven a lesser man mad. Fortunately, he was not a lesser man, and both he and Madara knew it. Still, it was hard not to steal his husband away and make due on his promises. 

Tonight would be his night. His chance, his opportunity, to do whatever he wished. Madara would give himself up to him, and the very thought had his mouth drying. He had a plan, of course. But it was likely to go flying out the window, as his plans so often did when Madara was involved with them. 

He watched the lights of the party lights and the fireworks send sharp shadows over Madara’s face. He appreciated them, but soon found his thoughts straying, picturing entirely different expressions, eyebrows pinching and white teeth biting down on soft lips. 

The end could not come soon enough. As the party continued, Hashirama grabbed Madara’s sleeve, pulling him away from whatever he had been looking at and nearly squishing him against his chest. “Time to go,” he said lowly, huskily, and Madara shivered at his tone. 

“Okay,” he breathed back. Hashirama beamed, interlacing their fingers. He started leading Madara through the crowd, catching sight of Tobirama and Mito. He waved cheerfully. Tobirama wrinkled his nose, looking disgusted. Mito smirked sharply, her gaze knowing, and she sent them a scandalous wink. 

Hashirama didn’t slow down until they were inside their home. As soon as the door was closed, he was pressing Madara against it, his body covering that of his smaller lovers, hands gripping his hips, pulling him forwards against him as he thrust against him, seeking the pleasant friction he had been desiring all night. 

Madara moaned quietly, head falling back against the door, and Hashirama ran his lips over his throat, breath hot against pale skin. “It’s my birthday,” he rasped, thrusting forward and grinding hard, forcing himself between his hips, chasing after the friction. Madara quivered. “Can I fuck you?” 

“I thought that was the plan,” Madara gasped back, dark eyes fluttering shut when Hashirama bit at his neck. His ungloved hands made their way under the folds of his robes, one hand tweaking a nipple, the other dragging over his abdomen, trailing lower. Hashirama stopped it before it could reach its destination. 

“No, I mean…” He paused, nosing Madara’s hair out of the way until his lips were against his ear. “Can I really, really, fuck you?”” He pulled back a little at his sharp inhale. 

Madara’s black eyes grew impossibly darker at his words. “How do you mean?” he asked, his breath just a little shaky. 

Hashirama leaned forward. ”I want to wreck you,” he said lowly. “I want to ruin you. I want to make you moan and whine, beg and cry and scream for me.” He ran his fingers lightly down his neck, under his robes, and up his chest. “I want you beneath me. I want you in front of me. I want you to ride me, and I want you on your knees for me. I want you every way I can have you.” 

He rocked his hips forward again, pulling Madara’s back into them. The others legs came up, hitching around his waist, and he took advantage of their position to grind into him, side to side, back and forth. The pressure made heat swell in him, and it was getting hard to ignore. He moved a little faster, a little more desperately, grinding and thrusting shallowly, appreciating Madara’s quiet sounds that he fought to stifle. 

“Can I?” he asked, licking a hot stripe up his neck and over his jaw. Madara shook in his grasp. 

“Okay,” he gasped, breathless. “Yes. Okay.” 

Hashirama grinned, sharp and pleased, his hands drawing up his lovers sides, looping around his shoulders. “Then I’ll have you here first,” he drawled. He pushed the fabric of Madara’s mantle up to his waist, tugging at the dark pants he wore underneath, just enough to expose what he wanted. As he did, he raised his other hand to Madara’s mouth, two fingers slipping past his lips. 

Madara licked and sucked at them obediently, his dark eyes never leaving Hashirama’s. The Senju curled his fingers into a fist around the fabric of his clothes at the sight. Madara’s hands moved down his chest, digging through the folds of his robes, and finally pulling out what he sought: the bottle of oil that Hashirama always carried around with him. Popping open the cap, he pulled Hashirama’s fingers out of his mouth, giving them a last, hard suck, and tilted the bottle, coating his fingers with oil. 

As soon as he closed the lid and tucked the bottle back, Hashirama reached under his lover, circling his entrance, lightly brushing his fingers against it, adding some pressure every once in a while. Madara’s arms curled around his neck, and his forehead leaned against his shoulder. 

“Hashirama,” he groaned, wiggling slightly, trying to get his fingers where he wanted them. 

“What do you need, Madara?” Hashirama asked, fingers tracing over his pale skin. His lover was proud, and it usually took a lot to get him to verbalize what he wanted. But it was Hashirama’s birthday, and Madara had promised to do as he wished. “Ask me for what you want, my love.” 

Madara shifted a little in his grasp, his legs tightening around his waist. “Fingers,” he mumbled. Hashirama could almost feel his skin heat with embarrassment. 

“What was that?” he asked, pressing against him teasingly. Madara gasped, and whimpered. 

“Fingers. In me. Please.” 

Not what Hashirama had been hoping for, but it was good enough. He sucked a spot on Madara’s neck, circling a few more times, before finally sliding a finger into him. He was tight, and clamped down around him almost immediately. Slowly, Hashirama worked his finger in deeply. 

He may be having a hard time restraining himself, but he would never hurt Madara. He took his time, pushing aside his own desperate need in favour of thoroughly preparing him. Madara was soon hissing at him to hurry up and stick another one in already. 

Hashirama tsked, but complied. Even if it was his birthday, he would give into Madara’s demands. For now. Slowly and torturously, he spread and scissored and curled his fingers, taking his time. Madara squirmed and wiggled against him, pushing back into his fingers as best he could. Taking pity, Hashirama added a third, delighting in the little keen it brought him. 

“Enough,” he panted after a few minutes, shoving at Hashirama’s shoulders. “Enough. I’m ready, come on.” Hashirama stilled his fingers, leaning back and gazing down at him.

“Have you forgotten what I just said?” he asked, still not moving. Madara wiggled just a little, seeking stimulus, and raised an eyebrow at him. “I want you to beg for me,” he reminded. Madara’s expression changed to one of surprise. 

“Already?” he asked, lifting one hand to trace over Hashirama’s eyebrow. “We’re barely begun.” 

“I want you begging for me the whole night,” Hashirama said simply, jabbing his fingers in deeper and twisting them cruelly. Madara gasped, his entire body shaking. 

“Only because it’s your birthday,” the raven said finally. He turned his head, lips brushing against his neck. “Please, Hashi,” he breathed. And then, before Hashirama could request more, he continued. “Please, fuck me, Hashirama.” 

The low purr of his voice had Hashirama’s weak self control snapping. He ripped his fingers out, hastily shoving at his pants until they were low enough for his hardness to spring out. The cool air had him hissing, and he reached down to stroke himself a few times, spreading the oil still on his fingers over it. 

Then he seized Madara’s hips, brutally tight, pulling him down and thrusting into him hard, sliding all the way in with one go. Madara gave a yelp of surprise, hands tightening around his shoulders. Usually, Hashirama went in slow, gave him time to adjust, and started off slow too. 

He gave him no such luxury today. He pulled out almost right away, and thrust right back in, yanking Madara down to meet him. He set up a hard, fast pace, fucking him against the wall brutally. Surprised at his lovers roughness, Madara thunked his head back against the wood, feeling his back starting to chafe against it through his clothes. 

Not to be outdone, he clenched his legs hard around Hashirama’s waist, hands sweeping under his robes, pinching his nipples hard. When he heard Hashirama grunt, and felt him thrust into him harder, he leaned in, attaching his teeth to the side of his neck, and started to bite and nip. 

Hashirama cursed, sinking his own teeth into Madara’s shoulder, and went harder, thrusting and grinding, pulling Madara down to meet his every move. They didn’t talk, as they often did when they did this. The only sounds were Hashirama’s heavy grunting, Madara’s breathless gasps and moans, and the sound of bodies moving harshly against each other. A few of the picture frames hanging on the wall rattled everytime Madara was thrust into and pushed harder against it. 

Hands moving from his hips to his ass, Hashirama forced him even closer, pausing his thrusts to push in deep and grind, hips moving shallowly, stimulating Madara and making him whimper, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. He pulled out, then thrust in again, delighting in the way Madara gasped. 

He could feel his heart pounding beneath the skin of his throat that he held between his teeth, his desperate gasps for air as Hashirama bit him and thrust into him, chasing his pleasure and release. His self control out the window, he fucked Madara hard and deep, the need to come overwhelming. 

It took a loud moan and a breathy “Please, Hashirama,” for him to finally climax. He spilled inside of him, thrusting frantically into him through it, and felt Madara clamp down hard around him. He leaned back a little, watching his lover as he came, head thrown back, eyes closed, spine arching beautifully. 

Panting, the two came down from their high, and Madara slumped against him. Hashirama gently guided his legs off his hips after pulling out of him, smirking at the way Madara wobbled unsteady as he got his feet under him, his mantle falling back down over him. 

“We need to do that more often,” Hashirama said dryly, licking his lips at the marks he left all over his neck. 

“Speak for yourself,” Madara said a little crankily. “The walls not too comfortable.” 

“I didn’t hear you complaining.” He reached around him, grabbing his lovers ass and pulling him forwards, one knee shoving between his thighs. “Ready for the next round?” 

“Are you already?” Madara asked, surprised. In response, Hashirama grinned, grabbing his hand and guiding it to his steadily returning erection, and thanking his rapid recovery time. Enhanced with a very helpful healing chakra. And maybe an aphrodisiac plant he knew of. 

“Almost. I have a method in mind to get it all the way ready.” He pulled Madara away from the wall, and walked him backwards to their room. When the door was closed, he pushed Madara against it again, shoving at his shoulders and guiding him to his knees. Madara’s eyes darkened as realization came to him. 

“Happy birthday to me,” he rumbled, pleased, as Madara started working away at his pants. His nearly returned hardness was at eye level, and he settled himself a little more comfortably on his knees. 

Hashirama’s hands threaded into his hair. “Open up,” he requested. Madara curled his lip at him. He didn’t quite like sucking people off, but Hashirama adored it. And since he was such a nice husband and lover, he’d allow this. Just this once. 

He parted his lips, and Hashirama immediately thrust inside, moaning at the wet heat enveloping him. He took a moment to adjust, stepping closer. The back of Madara’s head hit the door behind him, and Hashirama took his hands from his hair, pressing his palms against the door and leaning his weight on them. 

He looked down at Madara, long hair spilling over his shoulders, and gave a shallow, experimental thrust. Madara made a quiet sound, but didn’t protest. Grinning, Hashirama thrust again, shuddering at his lovers throat tightening around him. Madara hummed softly, knowing the vibrations made Hashirama crazy. 

Just as he predicted, Hashirama moaned, and started thrusting hard and deep. When they first started doing this, he had been much more nervous, afraid of hurting or choking Madara. It had taken angry Sharingan’s and a kunai pressed against his throat to assure him that Madara could take whatever he dished out. 

So, he had no qualms about thrusting into his mouth, enjoying his choked grunts and gasps for air. Madara’s pale hands came up to grip his hips, not restraining or pushing, but simply to steady himself. 

“Ah, Madara,” Hashirama breathed, rocking into him, moving one hand from bracing himself on the door to caress his spiky black hair, head tilting back and eyes closing. He focussed entirely on the heat around him, the tightness as his lover swallowed and sucked, quietly grunting and sucking in air whenever he could. 

“So good,” he praised, fingers turning from gentle to demanding, pushing against him. Heat started to pool in his lower belly, increasing tenfold when Madara scraped his teeth against him, drawing his tongue along the underside of his length. 

Sage, Madara had gotten good at this. He thrust a little harder, faster, feeling his coming climax. When Madara hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard on him, he came, spilling into his throat with a guttural sound. 

Madara took what he could, but a fair portion spilled out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin and chest. Hashirama pulled out, tucking himself away and retying his pants. “Good job, Maddy,” he praised, crouching down in front of him and wiping his essence from his mouth, thumb caressing over his bottom lip fondly and admiring how swollen and red it appeared. 

Madara hummed when he leaned in and kissed him, hands caressing his cheeks, brushing thick black hair away from his eyes. “So good for me,” he drawled into his mouth. “Think you can do me a favour?” 

Madara gave a half interested hum, dark eyes cracking open. “What?” he mumbled. In response, Hashirama tugged him a little closer, sliding between his legs and pushing insistently, toppling him onto his back. He shoved his hands up under clothes, caressing bare skin, thumbing at erect nipples. 

“Help me with this,” he encouraged, tugging at his waistband. With a fair amount of effort and some flailing limbs, they worked him out of his modest clothes, until his lover was bare before him, pale skin flushed, and darkening with bruises. 

“So good,” Hashirama mumbled, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down his chest, his belly, the inside of his thighs. Hands poking and prodding, he urged his lover to bend his knees, mouth following the lines of the muscles of his thighs, and finally reaching his intended destination. 

Madara screeched with surprise as his tongue delved inside him, throwing his head back and thrashing. Hashirama held him still with firm hands on his hips, pleased with his reaction, and enthusiastically tonguing and licking at him. 

“H-Hashi,” he panted, voice breaking into a frantic whine. Hashirama lifted his eyes, watching his face contort into a series of delightful expressions. Smug pride filtered through him, satisfied that he could bring his usually aloof lover to such a brink. 

Madara keened loudly when Hashirama twisted his tongue just right, legs instinctively started to close. Hashirama gripped his knees tightly, keeping them apart and shoving in deeper. 

The howl that brought him made him grin, and he pulled out to smirk at his lower, taking in the glassy eyes, the redness of his cheeks, the sweat dripping down his chest. “Good?” he asked playfully, nipping at his thigh. 

“Good,” Madara panted back, pale fingers threading into his hair, pushing him back. Hashirama pushed against him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Ah, ah,” he scolded, grinning sharply and with too much teeth. “What do you say?” 

Madara groaned. Desperation was a good look on him. “Come on, Hashi, please,” he whined, breath hitching when Hashirama’s teeth scraped the skin of his thigh. Hashirama hummed, scraping his teeth among the sensitive skin of his thigh. “Hashirama, please, I can’t-”

He broke off with a high moan when Hashirama moved back to what he was doing before. His nails dug into his scalp, his eyes squeezing shut and his entire body seizing. He pushed frantically against him, using his heels to do so, pressing his hips up with a kind of wild desperation. 

He heard Madara’s whimpers grow louder, swirling his tongue purposefully and deliberately. Madara twisted frantically, and he leaned his weight on his hips as best he could to keep him down. “Still, Maddy,” he crooned, pulling back just enough to do so and enthusiastically diving right back in. 

Finally….finally he got what he was looking for. Madara’s gasp turned loud, higher. He looked up again, pleased at the sight that greeted him. Madara’s eyes were glassy, watery. A tiny little tear was trickling down his cheek. 

“Aw, Mads,” he purred, pulling his head back just a little. His lover stared back at him, looking half dazed. “So good….” He delved back in, twisting and delving. With a strangled howl, Madara came, his body quivering and shaking as he came down. 

Hashirama leaned back, absentmindedly licking his lips, and gazing down at him. Madara took a few minutes, panting and breathing hard. After a while, his dark eyes finally fixed on him. 

“You back with me?” Hashirama asked, trailing his fingers lightly over his cheek. Madara sighed heavily, slowly, weakly pushing himself up onto his hands. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. Hashirama smiled, gently tugging him up to sit on his knees, hands running down his face, over his neck, and then to his shoulders. 

“You did great,” he praised, leaning in to fondly kiss him. Madara hummed quietly, leaning into him. Hashirama carded a hand through his messy hair, then took his hand. “Up, up,” he encouraged. Unsteadily, he wobbled to his feet, and let Hashirama guide him to the bed. 

He nudged Madara to sit, poking and prodding at him until he was in the middle of the bed, with Hashirama leaning over him. “Ready to go again?” 

Madara whined, an uncommon look of vulnerability on his face. “Again?” he complained, and Hashirama grinned, adjusting his position a little and letting him feel his hardness, back and ready to go. 

“You said anything I wanted,” he reminded. 

Madara stared up at him, dark eyes looking exhausted. “Anything,” he agreed, reaching up for him and grabbing his collar, leaning up for another kiss. Hashirama hummed into it, and Madara’s hands started tugging at his clothes, removing them and casting them aside. 

Hashirama tugged at his knees, slotting himself between them, and rocking lazily against him. Madara gave a low moan, head tilting back against the mattress. Hashirama pulled him a little closer, fingers trailing down his sides. Then, they curled around his hips, and he thrust right back in. 

Madara’s breath hitched, and his hands shot up to cling to his shoulders. Hashirama rocked into him, lowering his head to slowly mouth along his throat, thrusting slow and lazy and deep. Then he paused, leaning back a little to peer down at him. 

“It’s my birthday,” he said, thoughtful. “Why am I putting in so much effort? You do the work.” With a swift movement, he rolled them over, so that he was on his back, and Madara was perched on top of him. With a grin, he folded his hands behind his head. 

Madara stared down at him, sides still heaving from their earlier stint. Hashirama almost felt bad, pushing him so insistently. But Madara had promised he could take whatever he threw at him, with a haughty smirk and an arrogant lift of his chin. He had asked for it. 

“Get to work, darling,” he drawled. Madara gave him a look, then slowly smiled back. He moved his hands, to press them against his pecs. His nails curled into the muscle. 

“So lazily,” he muttered. He wiggled his hips, fingers shifting to firmly grasp his shoulder. Then he started moving, rocking and rolling into him. Hashirama groaned, enjoying the sight of his lover on top of him. Despite already having come twice, he was rapidly coming back. At first, he moved slow. But he was sensitive from their previous rounds, and it didn’t take much to bring him back to the edge. 

His movements came faster, more desperate, chasing his own end. Hashirama curled his fingers into his own hair, resisting the urge to grab him, roll them over, and finish them himself. He told himself to be patient, to enjoy the show. It was always entertaining when he had Madara over top of him like this. It usually went slow when he was, and neither of them had much patience for that. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, Hashirama appreciated every moment of it. 

“There you go, Mads,” he mumbled, letting one hand lower to caress his thigh, fingers trailing over pale flesh and watching the muscle quiver with strain. “You’re doing so good. Keep going, babe.” 

Madara whined quietly, and Hashirama resisted the urge to smirk. His lover, despite how much he denied it, most definitely had a praise kink. “You’re so good, darling. Look at you. So beautiful…” 

Madara’s cheeks flushed, and his nails dug in deep, leaving marks. He moved faster, harder. Desperate. Experimentally, he planted his feet and rolled his hips, thrusting up into him hard and nearly unseating him. Madara gasped, clutching at his shoulders and moving a little faster. 

Then he stilled, biting his lip, furrowing his eyebrows. He whimpered, loud and long, and came. The moment his body went lax, Hashirama rolled them over, thrusting into him and chasing his own end almost frantically. It only took a few thrusts for him to come, spilling inside of Madara with a low groan. 

They stayed like that for a moment, sweating and panting into each other's shoulders. “That was great,” Hashirama muttered. Madara just gave a breathless groan, eyes closing and head thumping back again. 

They laid like that for a while, basking in each other's presence. Then Madara opened his eyes, staring up at Hashirama with a bewildered expression. “You...seriously?” 

Hashirama chuckled quietly, shifting his hips. He was hardening, again. The aphrodisiac was working like a charm. “I made sure I could draw this out, Ma-da-raaaaa.” He leaned down, running his tongue slowly up his neck, teeth making fierce contact and leaving a dark mark. 

“Come on, love. Got one more in you?” 

Madara looked a little dismayed, disbelief in his dark eyes. It didn’t last long. He lifted his chin, lip tiredly curling up into a sneer. “I can match you at any time, in anything,” he challenged. Hashirama smirked at him. 

“Oh, Mads. That’s what you think.” 

He kissed him again, slow and deep, and pulled back. “Hands and knees, darling.” Madara blinked at him. 

“What?” he squeaked, and Hashirama trailed a broad hand down his chest, and to his belly. 

“Oh, I think you heard me, love.” He moved his hands down a little. “Hands and knees, Ma-da-raaaa.” 

With an overly dramatic groan, his lover complied, pushing him away to give himself room. The moment he had turned over, Hashirama draped himself over his back, reaching under him and pressing his hands against his chest and belly. 

“There ya go,” he crooned, running his hands down his arms and to his hands. A brief flare of chakra, and vines curled around his wrists, binding them together, and then pulling him forward, stretching him to bind him to the headboard. 

Surprisingly, Madara made no protest. He just grunted quietly when Hashirama pulled him back by the hips, stretching him out in front of him and forcing him from his hands to his chest. He hummed quietly, appreciating the view in front of him. 

He reached forward, brushing his wild mane of hair away from his back, and kissing a line of up his spine, taking his time to brush his lips over his skin. “Shoulda loved you sooner,” he mumbled, exhaling heavily. “I could have been doing this for years, if I’d known to worship you sooner.” 

Madara made a quiet sound, low in his throat. He didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. Hashirama followed his left arm with his own, twining their fingers together. Their matching wedding bands glinted at the movement. 

He continued to kiss sweetly at his back for a minute. But his arousal was getting harder to ignore. Soon, he started rocking slightly, sinking his teeth into the nape of Madara’s neck. His fingers trailed down to his hips, caressing gently, and then gripping firmly. Without any pretense, he thrust back into Madara’s, shuddering at the sensation of finally being in him again. 

Madara groaned quietly, overstimulated and sensitive. “Good, Mads,” he praised, pulling back and thrusting back in. “So good, darling.” 

Madara’s only response was another whimper, his breath coming in quick and prantic. But never to be outdone, he pushed back as best he could with his lack of leverage, his body quivering. “Hashirama,” he panted, fingers curling into the sheets through his ties. Then he seemed to remember Hashirama’s earlier request. “Hashirama please, come on. Please, please…” 

“I got you,” Hashirama mumbled, nose brushing against his neck. “You do beg so prettily.” 

He kissed his neck again, then pulled back. His blessed Senju endurance certainly came in handy. The aphrodisiac was wearing off, but he had enough in him yet. He thrust into him eagerly, pleased with his lover's compliance and resilience. 

“So good,” he praised, breathing heavily himself as he thrust and grinded, pushing Madara’s shoulders down, appreciating the curve of his spine. 

Madara shook beneath him. “H-Hashi,” he whined, his breathing hitching hard. “Please, I need…” 

“I know.” He pulled Madara back, eyes trailing to his muscles growing taunt as he pulled him against his bonds. Carefully, he arranged his knees between Madara’s, moulding them closer together, fucking him hard and fast. 

“Hashirama!” Madara wailed, tightening hard around him for the barest of moments before slumping, utterly boneless. Hashirama went a little longer, grunting, his fingers leaving marks on Madara’s skin. Then he too finished, hunching over and burying his face in his hair. With a rather lazy thought, he pulled back his mokuton, letting Madara’s hands go free of his stretched position. 

Leaning back, he nudged Madara over, cooing softer at his dazed and exhausted lover. “Good jobs, Mads,” he said quietly, wiping the dampness on his cheeks, and feeling a surge of satisfaction at the sight. “You were amazing. Thank you.” 

Madara made a quiet noise, closing his eyes. He mumbled something, but Hashirama missed it. 

“What was that?” he asked, gently brushing some of his hair back. Madara muttered it again, even softer, his face going slack. Chuckling quietly to himself, Hashirama retrieved some damp rags, cleaning the both of them up, and made himself comfortable on the bed. He pulled Madara into his arms, listening to his steady breaths, his entire body lax with sleep. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, despite knowing he wouldn’t be heard. “That was an excellent birthday.” Exhaustion finally weighing in, he curled his arms around his husband, and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with a content little smile.

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it


End file.
